


banal varem shala (nothing left to save)

by antebellum13



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Depression, F/M, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antebellum13/pseuds/antebellum13
Summary: Death came for everyone, in the end. When it came for Isal’in Lavellan, however, it did so only at her invitation. It is the end of the world and there is no one left to save, not even herself.Trigger Warning: There is implied suicide, as well as exploration of deep-set depression and anxiety. This story is not necessarily a "fix-it" for Solas and the Inquisitor, but rather a journey of healing the deepest wounds.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Fen'Harel/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Lavellan & Solas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end has come for Isal'in, and she is not afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning on this chapter. Implied suicide.
> 
> Isal'in - this is a name I put together from FenxShiral's Elvhen Lexicon. It means Fire Soul.

Death came for everyone, in the end. When it came for Isal’in Lavellan, however, it did so only at her invitation. 

It was the end of the days when Isal’in passed through the gates of Skyhold, the world in shredded, tattered remains behind her. She knew _he_ was following and had been since she had left him on that broken plain. But she was tired. So tired. She had nothing left to give him that he had not already ripped from her unwilling hands. She had fought him until the bitter end, but when the river ran red and her friends lay mangled and dead beneath her feet, he finally stood face to face with her for the first time since that day before the eluvian, when he had taken both mark and hand. And still he would not gift her with oblivion. 

She had considered ending it herself right then and there, just to deny him his selfish mercy. But no. That bloodied battlefield was not where she wanted to lay her head to rest for the final time. And so she turned from him and went back to the only home she had ever known, and he had followed. 

Compassion waited for her when she reached her quarters. He had seen her mind, yet did not try to stop it; even a spirit of Compassion could not resist the inevitable, and Isal'in did not need his help reaching it. So instead he lit her fireplace, rested a blanket over her as she lay down upon the rug, and pressed Death into her trembling fingers. He knelt before her and brushed his lips across her temple like gauze whispering in the breeze before vanishing in a warm swell of light. 

_His_ presence grew closer with each numbered heartbeat. But she had just invited Death, and Death was swiftly heeding her call. As her vision darkened and her limbs grew heavy and numb and cold, as the Void tugged her soul from her physical body and the empty vial rolled across the floor, she felt his jolt of alarm and his anguish explode behind her. 

He was too late, for Death had taken her by the hand and she was no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I don't know if this is going to go far as I seem to struggle with finishing stories. But usually that happens when I flesh things out too much and I end up overwhelmed by the task of putting it all into a cohesive story. So this time, I'm gonna take it one chapter at a time and see what comes to me. No definite plans for this story, I just want to explore the idea of healing when depression has set in so deeply that it feels like there is no other way out.


	2. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isal'in awakens. Things are not the same.

Isal’in had not expected her eyes to ever open again. When they did, she felt as though something within her was being violently wrenched back as though she had been teetering on the edge of a precipice. A weak cry fell from her lips and she tried to sit up but found her body unable to respond to her commands. 

Her head pounded, her stomach roiled, her bones ached. The dose had been more than enough. And yet her erratic heart was marching traitorously onward, so she could only guess she had not succeeded. As she struggled fully into consciousness, the faintest taste of honey and herbs and sweet milk lingered on her tongue and then faded until she could not be certain it had ever been there to begin with. 

A rush of memory came back to her. At the moment she had slipped into darkness, she had felt him there in her room with her. If she was still alive, it meant he was very likely responsible for the life still flowing through her veins.

Tears rolled from her eyes into her hair as she stared up at the blank gray-green ceiling. Everything. He had taken _everything_ from her, even Death. And for what? To force her to witness a world where explicit racism and utter lack of empathy existed? Where nothing but _his_ plan and _his_ People and _his_ world mattered? Was she to be his prisoner, his concubine, his _example_?

She could not say how long she lay in that place, but when the tears ran dry, she realized feeling had begun to creep back into her limbs beyond the generic ache that had been there since she had awoken. With a start, she realized there were pinpricks even in the limb that had been severed, so long ago. With the mightiest of efforts, she twitched a phantom finger and her heart galloped when it responded.

Over what felt like days, but was truly only hours, the use of her body came back to her, little by little. A spasm here, a jerk there, until she had independent control over every movement of her bones and muscles. Finally, groaning at the exertion, she pulled herself into a sitting position and took in her surroundings.

She appeared to be underground, for the stone around her was damp and dark and the only light came from veilfire braziers that hung low on the walls. She held up the arm that should not have been there and marveled at the sensation. It had been many years since she had seen it and she could not help but to wonder if she truly _was_ still living or if she was in some domain of Death’s, for this place did not have the telltale aura of the Fade. The room she was in even had the prickling atmosphere of a tomb. Had Death placed her body here, or had _he_ , not realizing she only slumbered? Before her thoughts could get far, a warm glow enveloped her and a voice spoke from beside her. 

“You have returned,” it said, and although it had no definite shape and an ambiguous pitch to its voice, she knew with every fiber of her being that this was _her_ Compassion.

“Cole?” she rasped, her voice hoarse with disuse. 

Compassion regarded her for a moment before replying, “I have not used that name for thousands of years. But I could be him again, if it would help.” An instant later, before she could respond, the light disappeared and Cole, beloved Cole, sat next to her, his legs crossed and his hat low over his face. 

Isal’in was gawking, but not at the sudden appearance of her companion. “Did you say _thousands_ —Cole, how long have I been here?” She felt dizzy; the room was spinning. What had he _done_?

“He offered a trade,” Cole said in his familiar, strangely lilting accent, answering her unspoken question. “His soul for yours. But you were already halfway in, it was not possible to give back what was already taken, and so he gave half, too. Now you are both halves of a whole. You live while he lives and he lives while you live.”

Dread clawed at Isal’in, warring with the nausea and migraine that lingered still. Not only had he denied her Death, but he had irrevocably bound her soul to his. Could she do it? Could she try again and drag him into the Void with her? Or would the fact that he still breathed simply anchor her here and drag her back from the sweet relief of nothingness once more?

“You have both been asleep for a very long time,” Cole continued gently. “Longer even than the first time he slept, from the Fall to the Breach.

“Where is he now?” she whispered as her fate settled over her with finality. 

“He believed it would be the final uthenera. He did not believe you would awaken, and if you ever did, he did not believe you would want to see him again. He slumbers still, deep below our feet, where nothing and no one can wake him.”

She met Cole’s pale eyes and sighed. “How can I find him?” 

“I think there is someone else you should meet first. She has been waiting for you, all these years.” Isal’in opened her mouth to ask _who_ but before she could make a sound, he was gone, as if he had never been there. She had grown used to Cole’s abrupt comings and goings long ago, so while it was frustrating he was gone now and that her growing list of questions would have to wait, she did not linger on the emotion.

Instead, she focused on moving her body until her legs hung from the side of the slab she was on, her toes just grazing the floor. With a deep breath, she willed her body up into a standing position---and promptly fell to the floor, her atrophied muscles crumpling beneath her weight, slight as it was. Thankful that Cole had not been there to witness her disastrous first attempt to stand, she pushed and shoved her body until she was seated and leaning back against the slab. She knew he would not care, but she had always hated the feeling of vulnerability and weakness.

Isal’in sat that way for some time, until the soft sound of bare feet padding toward her reached her ears. She glanced around and spotted a darkened doorway in the corner behind the head of her slab, unnoticed until that moment. Cole appeared first, hesitating in the doorway as he met her eyes and ducked his head. Behind him came a woman, undeniably _Elvhen_ and yet there was something else there, too.

_Familiar._ But Isal’in could not understand why the thought had come to her. She was quite certain she had never seen this woman in her life. And yet there was something there in the shape of her eyes and jaw and cheekbones and in the rich auburn of her hair that she _knew_ , that she was intimately familiar with.

As the woman moved closer, Isal’in straightened with a gasp. She looked like _him_. It was unmistakable, uncanny resemblance. But there was more, buzzing at the periphery of her mind like a gnat. Prickles of unease moved up her spine and across her scalp as the woman knelt down before Isal’in and bright emerald eyes met bright emerald eyes.

_Mine_. Isal’in was dazed by the revelation, but just like she had known Compassion was hers, she knew in her very soul this too was true. Up close, she could see other similarities. Her lips, her arched brows, the scatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. They were all pieces of Isal’in, like a long lost sister she had never known. Except she knew in her bones this woman was not a sister. There was too much of _him_ present for this to be a sister. No, this was a _daughter_.

It should not be possible. She...and _him_...they had never lain together. For all the intimacy they had shared, all the caresses and soft touches and lips that whispered across her skin like wind skimming the smoothest pond, they had never been together in a way that would have begot a child. Isal’in’s head swam and the woman’s face creased with concern moments before the darkness took her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I vow to try my hardest to publish something once every 1-2 weeks. I vow to try my hardest to publish something once every 1-2 weeks. I vow to try my hardest to publish something once every 1-2 weeks.
> 
> This shall be my New Year's Resolution. Finish this damn story, antebellum, for god's sake. Lord knows how much it hurts to read a story and have it end abruptly because the author lost interest or burned out. But I must endure! I SHALL endure!


End file.
